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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388587">The Fire in the Sound</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanFrankenstein/pseuds/AidanFrankenstein'>AidanFrankenstein</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Danger Room, F/F, Fingerfucking, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanFrankenstein/pseuds/AidanFrankenstein</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue spends her off hours in the Danger Room, seeking relief from frustration and stress. But you never know how real your thoughts and desires can be when you live in a home with people who possess telepathic abilities.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rogue/Psylocke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Fire in the Sound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story takes place in the 1990s Jim Lee/Fabian Nicieza/Scott Lobdell era X-Men universe, before the Danger Room grew sentience and before Rogue could control her abilities. I'm an old nerd, forgive me. </p><p>As someone who's always felt isolated himself, I find Rogue at her most intriguing when she struggles with the risks of her powers and the loneliness they impose on her. This is a pornographic story that I wanted to use to explore what it means when more than one human urge overtakes us, after we've tried to deny them but realize we are unable. </p><p>It might be the first in a series; Rogue's plight offers paths to lots of different scenarios.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>"I want to see the thirst</em><br/>
<em>inside the syllables</em><br/>
<em>I want to touch the fire</em><br/>
<em>in the sound:</em><br/>
<em>I want to feel the darkness</em><br/>
<em>of the cry. </em><br/>
--Pablo Neruda
</p><p>The crack of bone against her knuckles, the blood from the man’s nose spattering her face—under different circumstances, this might have felt satisfying. The sensations were real enough, startlingly so; it was often exceedingly easy to forget she was in the Danger Room. But even with the parameters set to the highest, lethal status, meaning these solid light soldiers were programmed to do their best to kill her, Rogue could find no release from her frustrations.</p><p>“Computer, pause program.” She stood still, catching her breath, and assessed her success: hand-to-hand combat against a half dozen men, all of whom lay in simulated bloody unconsciousness around her. Her muscles ached, which should have signaled the end of a good workout. But something in Rogue’s chest still burned and seethed, unanswered.</p><p>“End program,” she said in a sour growl. The hyperrealistic graphics shivered out of sight, and the Danger Room’s metallic walls and multiple Shi’ar projectors reappeared.</p><p>Rogue retrieved a towel and wiped the sweat from her face and chest. She had chosen to exercise in a simple black sports bra and high-waisted leggings, her brown and white curls pulled back in a sensible ponytail. To an outsider, she might have looked like she was heading to yoga class. But she had kept her uniform’s yellow leather gloves on; not that her ability to absorb the strength and memory of anyone she touched would work on holograms—it was just force of habit.</p><p>She gulped cold water from her sports bottle and checked her watch. The X-Mansion would be nearly empty for the rest of the day, most of the team spending their downtime at the movies or picnicking or on some other excursion in town. Hank would, of course, be in his lab and the Professor surrounded by a stack of books in his private library; Cyclops was probably in the hanger, doing maintenance and repair on the Blackbird. Rogue had slated the Danger Room for the entire afternoon, hoping to burn off some excess stress and energy. So far, it hadn’t even made a dent.</p><p>“Computer, run program Rogue-X93-9a.”</p><p>The computer beeped. “Password required.”</p><p>“Caldecott.”</p><p>Another beep, and the program came to life: a sunset-lit backwater swamp, muddy green and thick with wide-trunked cypress. Grackles whistled and croaked, and in the far distance, Rogue heard the bellow of a gator. The air was still and sweetened by magnolia and night jasmine. In a different version of the program, she might have sat on the bank beside the algae-carpeted water with a jug of moonshine-spiked sweet tea in one hand, a rod and reel in the other, and just idled away the hours listening to frog song and catching catfish until her feelings disappeared under the heavy blanket of drunkenness. But today, she still wanted to exercise.</p><p>There was an abrupt rustling in the leaves of the sprawling live oak tree behind her, the cue that the program had really begun. Rogue turned her head in time to see the purple flash of Psylocke’s blade, a psionic manifestation emerging from the other woman’s clenched fist, swinging toward her. She ducked and came up fast, ramming her shoulder into Psylocke’s stomach, both women grunting at the contact. Psylocke stumbled backward, the air driven out of her. Rogue was only a quick step away and caught Psylocke’s chin with an uppercut that made her teeth clack.</p><p>“Too slow, Betts.” Rogue shook the pain out of her hand as she looked at her opponent sprawled on the water-logged, mossy ground. “I seen a Sunday afternoon in July move faster’n you. I thought you was supposed to be a fancy-pants ninja, all stealthy ’n shit. You must be getting old.”</p><p>The facsimile Psylocke’s chest rose and fell, and she ground her teeth in anger at Rogue’s taunt. “Fuck,” she hissed between breaths, “you,” and like lightning she rolled her knees to her chest and kicked herself up; in the same motion she landed, she swiped one leg out and caught the back of Rogue’s knees.</p><p>Rogue tumbled to the ground, and Psylocke’s muscular bicep clamped around her throat. The psychic knife manifested from the purple-haired woman’s fist again and she drew back to make the blow. While the simulation was incapable of having the real-life effect of Psylocke’s power, Rogue had set the program to knock her out if the knife hit its target. Rogue punched her elbow into Psylocke’s solar plexus and used the few seconds it bought her to grab Psylocke’s knife-arm and flip her forward, onto the ground once more.</p><p>Rogue straddled Psylocke’s supine body, carefully pinning the other woman’s arms with her knees. “That’s two for me, sugar. Care to concede?”</p><p>A long moment passed. Psylocke’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “What are your terms?”</p><p>Rogue slid herself forward, so that now her thighs were on either side of Psylocke’s head. She pulled off her gloves, wanting to feel the other woman’s hair in her fingers—simulation or not. “Complete and utter surrender,” she whispered.</p><p>Psylocke’s hands came up, cradling Rogue’s ass and gently tilting her hips forward even more so. Rogue felt her heartbeat, rapid and hard, deep inside her pussy; the sensation, so abrupt after the adrenaline of combat, was thrilling. She sighed, letting her eyes drift closed, as she felt the other woman’s mouth pressing against her through her leggings. “Please,” she said softly.</p><p>Psylocke reached around Rogue’s thighs and easily ripped the fabric at the crotch. Exposed, her clit stiffened at the stimulation of the humid Mississippi evening air and Psylocke’s breath.</p><p>“Is this what you want?” Psylocke’s voice was thick. Her fingers dug into Rogue’s thighs, holding her in place.</p><p>“Yes,” Rogue said in a long exhale. She tilted her hips forward, unconsciously seeking connection with the other woman’s lips.</p><p>But her desire was momentarily denied. Psylocke laughed gently, still holding Rogue immobile, just out of reach. Teasingly, her tongue flicked out and brushed, light as a feather, across the strained pink flesh of Rogue’s clit. “Please, Betsy.” Her voice was a needy whine. The power shift, despite their position, had made Rogue even wetter, and she felt her pussy lips peeling open, inviting and hungry.</p><p>A swift swipe of Psylocke’s tongue made her gasp and whimper. Her hips began rocking against the other woman’s face, seeking a sustained rhythm. At last, Psylocke took pity on her and opened her mouth wide, her tongue circling and flicking and laving Rogue’s hard clitoris.</p><p>Rogue, trying to hold closed the floodgates of pleasure, twisted one hand deeper into the satiny sheet of Psylocke’s hair while the fingers of her other hand slid down the curve of her face. Her skin was warm and soft, and Rogue loved how she could feel the muscles of Psylocke’s jaw working as she sought to bring her to climax. While of course she wanted it to last, the urge to come was demanding. Her palm spread wide on Psylocke’s cheek and she let her hips follow the hypnotic pulse of Psylocke’s tongue stroking tight circles around the core of her. Within moments, her body grew unbearably heavy, as if all the blood inside her was pooling in her pussy, and then there was, suddenly, that wonderful snap deep inside as her orgasm was finally triggered. She held Psylocke’s head firmly in place while the currents of pleasure overtook her.</p><p>The sky of the backwater was purple-dark now, pinpricks of stars visible in the gaps of the trees’ canopy. Rogue slumped to the ground beside Psylocke, her thighs trembling. Psylocke rolled to her side, pushing herself up on one elbow above Rogue. Her long hair, blue in the low light, fell like a waterfall around them, tickling Rogue’s face. Rogue reached a hand up and traced Psylocke’s forehead, down the bridge of her nose, across the full curves of her lips, then along her chin and the arch of her throat to her collarbone. Psylocke’s eyes, the color of an amethyst lit from inside, watched Rogue patiently.</p><p>Rogue’s naked fingers tripped further down Psylocke’s body, delicately exploring the hard plane of her belly, the sharp jut of her hipbone, and then slipped, with only a little difficulty, under the tight waistband of her uniform. Rogue found warm wetness and sighed with delight. Psylocke groaned, her head dropping against Rogue’s shoulder and her teeth sinking into the flesh. Rogue masturbated Psylocke slowly, imagining she was touching her own body, wanting the soft, warm feeling to go on and on and on.</p><p>“Put your fingers in me,” Psylocke whimpered against Rogue’s neck, “please make me come.”</p><p>Rogue’s heart thudded dully in her chest; she was ready to orgasm again too, she realized with surprise. In the same instant she sank three fingers deep inside Psylocke’s tight hole, their lips crushed together, and Rogue felt as if hot honey was spreading over her own clit. Her head was dizzy. She fucked Psylocke steadily, and as the insistent contractions began to ripple around her fingers the familiar sensation of release began deep inside herself again. She broke their kiss with a sharp cry, and Psylocke moaned loud and long with her, their pleasure harmonized.</p><p>For a long while afterward, Rogue lay with her head on Psylocke’s chest, almost convinced that the sound of the other woman’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal in the aftermath was real. Crickets and frogs and owls made low noises as the swamp grew midnight-dark. Rogue’s hand starfished across Psylocke’s belly; she tried to memorize the feel of her warm skin, the subtle tick of her pulse against her palm. She lost track of time. She might have dozed.</p><p>At long last, Rogue sat up. She looked at the heavy-eyed figure laying beside her and pushed back against the urge to bend her head and kiss it. She knew it wasn’t real. Still, ultimately, she couldn’t resist, and her lips closed over the other woman’s mouth tenderly and did not hurry to depart. When she finally did, Rogue said very quietly “I needed that.”</p><p>Psylocke’s simulation smiled. She lifted a hand and touched Rogue’s lips. “It was fucking good.”</p><p>“It was,” Rogue agreed. She found her gloves in the dewy grass and carefully pulled them on. “Computer, end program.”</p><p>***</p><p>In the eastern wing of the mansion, in an upstairs room with its windows open to let in the cool New York evening, Elizabeth Braddock lay sprawled across her mattress. Her purple hair was damp with sweat and her breath came in ragged pants. Her nipples were still stiff beneath the fabric of her t-shirt, and her panties were soaked through, pulled tight against her pussy. The enormous expenditure of psychic energy had exhausted her, but she didn’t regret a second of it. In her mind, she could still feel Rogue’s tongue against hers, Rogue’s fingers swirling over her flesh. She sensed Rogue walking slowly out of the Danger Room, down the long corridors to one of the mansion’s bathrooms, the hot needle-sting of the shower on her skin. And she sensed Rogue’s tears, the knot tying itself in the back of her throat while she swallowed sobs. With one last flex of telepathic muscle, Psylocke brought the sensation of that final, quiet kiss on the swamp’s bank back to them both.</p><p>In her own room, pulling on an old cotton t-shirt to sleep in, Rogue gently put her gloved fingertips on her lips, marveling at how real it felt.</p>
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